


Insecurities Are the Greatest Enemy

by flintxwood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this because clearly i wanted to make myself sad, M/M, and i wanna hug him, because that's a canon thing in need of exploring, in many ways, marcus is insecure, someone protect him, this is less of a flintwood and more of marcus trying to pass newts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flintxwood/pseuds/flintxwood
Summary: Marcus never thought it'd happen but he actually failed his N.E.W.Ts. And not only failed but he had to repeat his final year at Hogwarts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really get Hogwarts schooling so bear with me. 
> 
> Also, I clearly wrote this to upset myself. I want to hug Marcus, I'm sorry for hurting him.

Repeating his seventh year; not something Marcus thought he’d ever have to do. He would never call himself that academically driven but there was no way he would have ever thought he would… actually fail. Getting mostly graded T’s, with a couple D’s thrown in. 

His father’s angry voice still rang in his ears. 

“How could you fucking FAIL?”

It was humiliating. It was degrading. He just wanted to spend his life playing Quidditch but he was stuck for another year at Hogwarts, because he couldn’t write a good essay. And he couldn’t reattain enough information. And he wasn’t the best at practical magic.

No wonder his father was pissed at him; he was practically a squib. 

When he got to Hogwarts, sitting Adrian, Terrance, and Cassius on the train – who were very confused why he was even there until he told them with an angry grunt – Snape called him to follow him. He begrudgingly followed him into his office. He could guess what he was going to tell him. He was probably going to kick him off the Quidditch team and go hard on him for failing, probably because he’s essentially a failure and an embarrassment to the Slytherin house and not just his family. 

“Okay, I could kick you off the Quidditch team,” Snape said in his chilling monotone voice, making his body tense. “But I’m not,” he continued. “Move in with this year’s seventh years, another bed has already been added.”

He swallowed and nodded. It wouldn’t be too bad if someone on the team was in seventh year this year, but no, not a single one was. There was four male seventh years this year so he was fucked when it came to class. 

When Snape let him go, he didn’t go into the Great Hall, he went to the Quidditch pitch. He needed to get his anger out. 

The only reason he wasn’t a beater was because the last captain said he was far too violent but had excellent aim, so he was appointed to be a chaser. He seemed to make it up to him by making him captain. 

He let out the bludgers, hopped onto his broom, and with his bat in hand went after the bludger, hitting them as hard as he could towards the goals. If he wasn’t careful, he was probably going to get injured but he didn’t care. With each hit, he screamed. He just screamed. This was the only thing he was good at. He was a good flyer, and a good Quidditch player. 

He was terrible at Charms.

Bang

He was terrible at Potions (even with a biased head teacher!)

Bang

He was terrible at Herbology.

Bang

He was terrible at the bullocks of a class, Divination.

Bang

He was terrible at History of Magic.

Bang

He was terrible at Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Bang

He was terrible at Transfiguration.

Bang

He was terrible at everything.

He hit the bludger hurdling towards him with all his might. It was so hard it hit the goal post, recoiling and hurdling back at him. He quickly dodged it, and let out a sound that was between a groan and a scream.

“Flint?”

Fuck, if things couldn’t get any worse.

Oliver fucking Wood flew up to his side, furrowing his brows at him and cocking his head to the side. “I thought you graduated.”

“Fuck off, Wood,” he snapped at him. He didn’t even flinch, Wood knew him well enough to know he probably wouldn’t throw a punch. Which he wasn’t the type to do, he never got violent off the Quidditch pitch. Unless he was really pissed at someone. 

“Just asking, thought I wouldn’t have to deal with your arse anymore.”

“What are you doing here then, smartarse?” he snapped. He really didn’t want to deal with him right now. He didn’t want Wood of all people to see him frustrated. 

“I like checking on everything when I get here, that’s all,” he shrugged. Merlin, why was he so obsessed with Quidditch. Hooch would probably have things in order. “What about you.”

A bludger was about to hit Wood’s damn head from behind. Out of panic, he grabbed the front of Wood’s broom and pulled him down so avoid it. 

“Shit, are you going to put them away?” Wood asked, pulling out his wand and stopping the bludgers in their tracks with the stunning spell. “Why are you doing this.”

He scowled. Like he was going to tell Wood this was a coping mechanism. “What part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you get?”

Wood frowned at him. “What, do you have to repeat or something?”

“I said, FUCK OFF!” And with the bat he reached forward and hit the bludger towards Wood, getting hit right in the shoulder. Wood gripped his shoulder as he recoiled, almost dropping his wand. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered. 

“Just fuck off Wood,” he growled. He didn’t want to deal with Wood, he really didn’t. Wood was a pain in the arse, a pain in the arse he’d have to deal with more than he previously had to. He used to only have to deal with him during Quidditch matches and the few times they encountered each other in the corridor. 

“Okay,” he muttered. “See you in class, I guess.” 

He flew to the ground, leaving Marcus on his own. Without the spell, they were flying around again and he hit them until he had no energy to do it anymore. He screamed in frustration, and lowered himself down to the ground. When his feet touched the ground he collapsed under himself, and started to full on sob. 

Why did he have to be such a fucking idiot?

…

Charms, of course that was his first class. One of the few classes he – barely – qualified for. When he got to class, his housemates in the class had already paired together, not paying him a second look. He glanced over at two Gryffindors, realising it was Weasley. He was sitting up straight, probably to show off his new Head Boy badge. Pompous dickhead. 

The other wasn’t Wood, thank Merlin. 

Flitwick stared at him and he took the empty table at the back. Charms was always in pairs so he was either going to be forced with his housemates or work alone. 

Right before class started, the door burst open and Wood ran in panting. 

“Sorry,” he wheezed out. “I was at the Quidditch pitch an-“

“No excuses, Mr. Wood,” Flitwick replied. “Just take a seat.” 

Wood’s eyes fell on Weasley, seeing that the seat next to him was taken by another Gryffindor. Weasley just shrugged at him. The only seat left was next to Marcus; a seat he clearly didn’t want to take. 

“Wood, take a seat or that will be five points from Gryffindor.”

Begrudgingly, he sat next to Marcus, not even sparing him a glance. 

As Flitwich droned on with the exact same topic as last year, Marcus zoned out. It was just an introduction of what they’d be learning that year. He doodled on his parchment, drawing Quidditch goal posts and quaffles. He side eyed Wood, who was writing on his parchment. He assumed it was just notes for class but he realised it wasn’t. 

‘Make sure everyone’s brooms are good’

‘Make sure everyone’s ready for the season’

‘Practice keeping with charmed quaffle’

Of course he was already getting ready for the Quidditch season. That was so typical of Wood. He’d never in his life met someone so obsessed with the game. The season didn’t start for two months but he was already preparing. That sounded like Wood. If anyone in this school was going to get on a real team, it’d be him. 

Herbology was his next class. Thankfully, Wood wasn’t in it. He again got a couple curious glances of, why the fuck he was there. He didn’t react but he naturally had a face that looked perpetually pissed off. It didn’t make him look too approachable, especially when his teeth were still huge. He’d hoped that when he charmed his teeth smaller over the summer his face would look a little more appealing but no, he still looked the same and still hated what he saw in the mirror. 

As the rest of the day dragged by, he avoided most people. When he had a classes with Wood, he avoided looking at him. His housemates made it clear they wanted nothing to do with him. He didn’t humour them, nor did he attempt to sit with them. If they didn’t want to sit with him, then fine. He just went to the first empty seat he saw. 

Transfiguration was another class that only had two seats per table, and he had it with Wood, Weasley, and that other Gryffindor bloke. Everyone obviously knew each other and had paired off, so, like in Charms, the only seat left was next to Marcus. And by the look of it, Wood was arguing with Weasley and the other Gryffindor over a seat at the front of the class. They were getting glared at by McGonagall, clearly waiting for them to take a seat. Weasley was looking at Wood and kept nodding toward Marcus. Wood shook his head and whispered angrily at him. 

“Boys, would you just take a seat,” McGonagall said. 

The Gryffindor boy sat in the seat, and Weasley narrowed his eyes at Wood, taking the seat next to his Housemate. Wood huffed and for the second time that day, begrudgingly sat next to Marcus. 

McGonagall had wanted them to work on their Crinus Muto spell with their partner. That was one of the few spells Marcus was okay at. 

Before he could even pick up his wand, Wood casted the spell onto him. He smirked at him and Marcus pulled strand of his hair, seeing that the colour had turned hot pink. That fucker.

With a glare, he casted the spell onto Wood, giving him green polka dots in his hair. He smirked at Wood and received a glare back. 

Wood casted a spell at Marcus’s face, giving him a green goatee. He glared at him, and shot back, making Wood’s eyebrows bushier. 

It was practically an all-out war at that point. 

They violently shot at each other, changing each other’s hair colour, changing the style, giving the other embarrassing facial hair, hair colour, anything they thought of in the heat of the moment. 

“Wood! Flint!” McGonagall shouted at them and casted a spell pulling them apart. She reversed everything they’d done to each other, Marcus thankful his short black hair was back and the disgusting facial hair was gone. 

“Detention, tonight. Both of you,” she snapped. “And five points from both of your houses.”

She separated them, sending Wood to sit with a Ravenclaw, her friend being sent to sit with Marcus. The girl was tense next to him the entire class, like she was scared of him. 

Of course she fucking was. Everyone seemed to be scared of him.

Except Wood, by the look of it.

…

It’s not that he couldn’t do the levitation charm, he could. But even the lightest objects would only levitate for a few moments before the spell decided to stop on its own. The only thing he could levitate where he had full control over the spell was a feather, so he was basically on the level of a first year. 

One of the few charms he’d perfected was the sound proofing charm. He’d drawn his curtains closed and allowed himself to basically scream the charm in frustration. He was trying to levitate a book, and was trying to settle his nerves as he casted the charm. 

“Wingardium leviosa! Wingardium leviosa! Wingardium leviosa!” he growled, waving his wand at the stupid book. It slightly moved but it didn’t levitate. He groaned loudly and fell back onto his pillow, taking a deep breath. 

He heard footsteps walk into the room, but he paid them no mind. He sat up and picked his wand back up. This was the exact reason he used the silencing charm. 

He took a deep breath and calmly spoke the spell. “Wingardium leviosa!” 

His eyes widened, the book was floating and was floating because of his wand. He was panting, watching it levitate from where it sat. His mouth hanged open as he watched it.

“I did it,” he whispered.

“So what do you think of Flint?” 

The spell cut off, his concentration breaking. He really wished he knew a charm that didn’t allow sound in too. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile,” said the other voice. “He’s just always scowling.”

“Yeah, even with his teeth fixed he’s a pretty ugly bloke.”

He will not cry he will not cry he will not cry

The other Slytherin laughed. “Yeah, can’t believe we’re stuck with him for another year. I thought we were done with him for good.”

“Yeah, no way I’ll partner with him in class. Like I want to fail my N.E.W.Ts too.”

“He must’ve failed really bad if he had to repeat.” There wasn’t sympathy or pity in the voice, instead the statement was followed by a cruel laugh. 

“I know; he’s always been pretty terrible in class. I swear he’s a borderline squib.”

The voice of his father ran in his head. “Are you a fucking squib or something? No Flint has ever been a fucking squib!”

He’s still not going to cry, there was no fucking way he will.

“Maybe he’ll end up like Filch,” the other laughed. “No one but a cat.”

Another cruel laugh. “Yeah, no girl would ever go for his ugly mug.”

He scoffed at that statement. If only they knew.

But that statement probably applied to blokes anyway so what did it matter? 

He had to go to detention anyway. 

He sat up and pulled back his curtains and the two Slytherins froze, colour draining from their faces. He didn’t bother confronting them, just pushing passed them and walking upstairs to where he had to meet McGonagall and Wood. Detention on the first day must’ve been some sort of record.

He saw Wood standing outside of McGonagall’s office, scowling at the ground. When he heard Marcus walking up he narrowed his eyes at him. 

He hated that Wood had really pretty eyes. How were brown eyes so pretty? 

But he’d gotten pretty good at ignoring that. 

They didn’t exchange words, just hateful looks. McGonagall stepped out of her office and looked at the two.

“You both will be polishing ornate candelabra and will be supervised by the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin,” she said.

“Wait, together?” Wood asked, his widening at McGonagall. 

She nodded. “You two need to learn to get along,” she said. “You’re both Quidditch captains and you both should know, especially you Flint,” her eyes narrowed at him. “You are lucky to have that role. You should also know you should represent your houses with some dignity. Attacking each other in class in not the appropriate, even without the roles you’re in.”

Wood pursed his lips and nodded. They followed her to the new Professor’s office. He didn’t have Defence Against the Dark Arts until tomorrow so this was the first time he’d be meeting the professor. 

They walked into the office and there were at least twenty candelabra to clean. Great.

The new Professor was dressed a way he didn’t expect one to dress. He also had a brown moustache but what caught his attention was the thin lines on his face. They looked like faded scars.

“Remus, be sure they don’t try to kill each other while you watch them,” McGonagall said from behind them.

Professor Lupin nodded, and smiled at the pair. “Don’t worry, Minerva, I’m sure I can handle them.”

After she left, Lupin asked, “So, I’ll be the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, in case Minerva didn’t tell you.”

“She did, sir,” Wood said taking one of the two seats. The other seat was right next to him. 

Why was nothing going his way today?

“Either of you taking it this year?” Professor Lupin asked.

“I am,” Wood said. Of course he was, because nothing was going his way. Out of three of his five classes, he was stuck with Wood. 

Marcus just nodded with a grunt.

“Well I might as well get your names out of the way,” Professor Lupin smiled. 

“Oliver Wood.”

Professor Lupin looked at Marcus. “And you? Why don’t you take a seat?”

Marcus pressed his lips together and sat next to Wood, trying not to brush against him. “Marcus Flint,” he grunted out.

“Professor Lupin,” he said like they didn’t already know. He handed them the material they needed to polish with and he wouldn’t get that stupid smile off his face. “I’m sure you’re both excited to learn how to cast a Patronus this year.”

Marcus felt a lump in his throat and he knew – no he felt – Wood glance at him. Two minutes in and he already was made to feel inadequate at his magical abilities. He was never able to do a full Patronus, he had trouble thinking of a memory strong enough too. 

“Yeah, sounds cool,” Wood said. He expected Wood would make a snide remark, telling the Professor he was actually an eighth year. But he didn’t, and he was weirdly grateful. 

Marcus just gave Professor Lupin a shrug. He was used to building walls up, used to just letting his demeanour scare people away. 

Professor Lupin seemed to realise he wasn’t going to get any more of an answer, so he continued to try to make a conversation with them as the pair polished. 

“You two like Quidditch?”

Predictably, Wood grinned. “Yes!” he said. “I’m keeper and captain for the Gryffindor team, I’m actually planning to get into the pros.”

Hearing the way he talked about Quidditch was always weirdly nice. With his Scottish accent, he sounded completely joyous. He loved Quidditch as much as Marcus loved it, except he was much more outwardly enthusiastic about it. 

“What team you thinking of joining?” Professor Lupin asked. 

“Puddlemere, most likely.”

“Working hard towards it?”

“Yeah, real hard. I practice like mad.” He felt Wood glance at him. “Flint’s the captain of the Slytherin team.”

“You are, huh?” Professor Lupin asked. “What position?”

Marcus shuffled in his seat. “Chaser,” he grunted out. “Thinking about going for Montrose when I graduate.”

Professor Lupin nodded. “Good team, just as good as Puddlemere.”

He nodded and continued to polish, letting his hair fall in his face. Wood and Professor Lupin continued to talk about Qudditch, Marcus not bothering to add anything to the conversation. He wanted to get this done with. 

When there were five candelabras between them left to polish, the door to the office opened, cutting off Professor Lupin and Wood’s conversation. Marcus looked over his shoulder to see Professor Sprout at the doorway. 

“Yes, Pomona?” Professor Lupin asked. 

“I need you for a moment,” she said.

He looked at the two. “Uh, supervising these two for detention right now.”

“They can be left alone for a few minutes, just lock the door.”

He stood up and followed Professor Sprout out of his office, locking the door behind him with a spell. 

The tension was back between them. Marcus didn’t bother to look at Wood or make conversation, he was going to finish his detention and run back to his new room, trying to perfect spells that should be easy at his age. 

“Sorry about turning your hair pink,” Wood offered. 

Marcus didn’t say anything, polishing the same spot over and over instead. 

“And sorry for bothering you the other day,” Wood continued. “You were obviously stressed and didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Wood, shut up,” he growled through gritted teeth. 

And yet, he still continued. Because he was Wood and he liked to see how far he could get. “I didn’t know you wanted to try out for Montrose.” Marcus offered no reply. “Uh, I thought it was just a thing you liked to do for school, didn’t think you’d want to go pro.”

Marcus sighed. “I love Quidditch,” he said. “It’s pretty much the only thing I want to do.”

Wood smiled at him, clearly satisfied he’d gotten a response. “That’s how I feel.”

“Wood, I’m pretty sure the entire school knows that.” He didn’t smile at him, but he allowed some kindness in his tone.

“Guess they do,” Wood replied, setting aside the candelabra and reaching for another.

Their conversation ended there, polishing in silence until Professor Lupin came back.

…

“Stupefy!” he yelled at the small spider, sparks barely igniting from his wand and definitely not enough to effect the small creature. 

“STUPEFY!” he yelled with much more force this time. Still, only a few sparks came from his wand. 

Angrily, he kicked one of the lockers, ignoring the pain that shot up his leg. 

He’d been trying so hard to do this but he couldn’t. It’s like his wand refused to cooperate. It’s like he barely held magic in himself. It’s like everyone was right when they said he was a borderline squib.

He didn’t aim for a target this time, he just flung his wand, waiting for something more than a few sparks. 

“Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! STUPEFY! STUPREFY! STUPREFY! STUPE-FUCKING-FY!”

Small sparks were all that came from his wand. Nothing that could actually stun someone. Wand still in his hand, he broke under his knees, hot angry tears running down his face. Why couldn’t he do this? Why were there barely any spells he could actually do? Why did this have to be so difficult no matter how hard he tried.

He heard footsteps. Fuck, are you serious? He chose the Quidditch change room because he knew no one came down here in October of all times. 

“Flint?”

Of fucking course it was Wood.

“Are you… okay?” Wood came into view and he actually looked concerned. He caught him crying, the last thing he wanted. He was able to hold it in when Wood caught him on the first night at Hogwarts but he was too far in to be able to compose himself now.

“Do you fucking follow me or something?” he growled, standing up.

Wood seemed to ignore his question. “What are you doing?”

“None of your bloody business!” 

“Flint-“

“I said, fuck off! Stupefy!” 

Wood flinched at the sound of the spell, body tense as it expected to be hit with the spell as Marcus pointed his wand at him. But of course, in front of Wood, the wand just let out a few harmless sparks.

Wood stared at the wand, as if putting the pieces together. That Flint couldn’t even do a simple charm. 

Marcus set his wand to his side, which motivated Wood to actually look at his face. He was waiting for Wood to say something, to point out the obvious, to mock him. But he didn’t. He had something like pity in his eye but he didn’t want Wood’s pity. 

Wood never paid him mind in class. After the ordeal in Transfiguration they were never forced together. A different student was forced to sit with him instead and he could always tell they were tense, like if they moved he’d attack them like a lion. 

But Wood hadn’t seen how awful he was at class. And that’s where the surprise came from.

“Yes, I know, I can’t do a simple fucking spell. Can you go now?” he said softly.

Wood stared at his wand, and bit his lip. “Marcus, you’re not going to do any spell if you’re angry.”

Marcus. That was the first time Wood had said his first name. 

Another thing he didn’t need, the tingly feeling when he spoke his name.

“I try to be calm,” he said. 

“Well, you need to be calm and you need to focus.”

“Could you not fucking talk to be like I’m some impotent first year? I can do spells – some at least.”

“Like?” Wood prompted, like he was genuinely trying to help.

“Levitation – sort of.” He had tried a few times after detention and he could definitely kind of do it. 

He expected to get a mocking comment on barely being able to do a first year spell, but he didn’t. “What else?” Wood prompted.

He swallowed. “Lighting charm. Uh, that one in Transfiguration obviously. The uh… shrinking charm.”

He didn’t miss Wood’s eyes fall to his mouth, as if just realising his teeth were no longer large. He didn’t comment on it, and looked back at his eyes. “That it?”

“I know a few miscellaneous, easy ones, but that’s it mostly.”

Wood took a long moment before he continued. “Did you… want help or anything?”

Marcus stared at him. “Help?”

He swallowed. “Yeah, like I help you try to do spells?” 

Wood was offering to help him. The boy who’s meant to be his rival is offering to help him. 

“Okay,” he said anyway. “Okay, but don’t tell anyone.”

Wood nodded. This was going to be interesting.

…

Every day, sometime after classes for the day, they met in the change rooms and practiced. Oliver had helped him get control of his emotions, helped him figure out how to focus. 

Along that time, being on a first name basis had somehow started. If Marcus were to pinpoint it, it was the first time Oliver called him ‘Marcus’. It relieved tension between them. 

The Quidditch season had started. They were meant to play Gryffindor but Malfoy had insisted his arm was too injured after being attacked by a hippogriff or something, he didn’t exactly know what happened. But it got them out of playing a match, much to Oliver’s displeasure. 

Christmas came and went, exams drawing closer. But in that time, his magic had improved. He was much better at concentrating when he would cast spells and wasn’t doing too terrible at assessments. As in, he was passing, even if it was just barely. 

He and Oliver still couldn’t sit together but they weren’t exactly telling people about their daily meetings. But truthfully, they had learnt to get along. And they were actually enjoying their time together. 

However, Marcus still struggled with spells. Oliver was trying to help him with some of their Charms work, notable non-verbal spells. He’d gotten okay at all the Charms they’d had to learn but non-verbal spells were a whole new level. He’d been trying since sixth year but he still couldn’t do it, not even a little. 

“Marcus, breath,” Oliver said and squeezed his shoulder. 

Marcus took a deep breath. “I can’t do it!” 

“Marcus, concentrate, you can do it,” Oliver encouraged.

He waved his wand again, concentrating on the levitating charm in his head. He looked at the Quaffle they were using for practice expectantly but nothing happened. Marcus groaned, tugging at his hair as he collapsed on the ground. 

“I can’t fucking do it!” he yelled. “I can’t fucking do this bullshit!”

Oliver kneeled down next to him, those ridiculously pretty brown eyes looking at him pleadingly. “Marcus, please try to calm down.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m calm! I can barely do any of this!”

Oliver gripped both of his shoulders and squeezed them comfortingly. “Take a few deep breaths, we can take a break.”

Marcus stared at him and nodded, taking in a deep breath, and exhaling. It was only February, he still had time to get good enough to pass this time. 

“So, break, right,” Marcus said when he got himself under control. 

Oliver nodded and smiled. “So, I have actually been meaning to ask.”

“That can’t be good.”

“You don’t have to answer, just so you know,” Oliver continued. He’d gotten used to the way Oliver would always get to the point and ignore his snide remarks. “But I wanted to ask months ago.”

“Uh, okay, sure, go ahead.”

“Why’d you shrink your teeth?”

He knew the question would come eventually. He’d expected it actually. Of course Oliver would be the one to ask that question. People had noticed his teeth were no longer as large as they used to be. A muggle born when he was in second year once recommended braces, whatever those were. But no one mentioned how his teeth looked like when they were fixed with magic. 

Marcus sighed. “One of the many things I hated about my face, only thing I could fix.” When Oliver didn’t say anything, he continued. “I spent months perfecting the shrinking charm, just so I could make them some normal size. Which I did over the holidays. Thought it’d make me look a little less ugly, y’know? But nah, I look just as ugly with normal teeth,” he laughed to try and lighten the mood but there was no way Oliver missed the insecurity in his voice. 

Oliver chewed his lip, clearly unsure of what to say. Which was fair, not everyday someone told you they hated something in their appearance so much they would permanently alter it. 

“I mean,” Marcus said when the silence went on for too long. “At least I perfected a spell.”

Oliver swallowed and shrugged, not offering a verbal response.

Marcus’s mind drifted back to the first day of classes, when his classmates talked about him without knowing he was there. They had nothing good to say about him but were terrified when they saw him. It was like when the Ravenclaw girl was forced to sit next to him and she looked terrified. Or really everyone forced to sit with him. 

He never got that from Oliver, not when he was a third year and joined the Quidditch team, not when he was a fifth year and became captain of his team. He even seemed to enjoy smirking at him whenever he saved his shots. Like he knew he wouldn’t actually hurt him. 

“You know something funny?” Voicing his thoughts. “You’re the only one that doesn’t seem to be scared of me.”

“What’s there to be scared of?” Oliver asked, cocking his head to the side and playfully smiling at him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied. “But no, seriously, you’re really the only person who doesn’t seem to be scared of me outside of the team.”

Oliver shrugged. “I guess I just knew you better than that. You just came off as all bark and no bite. I’ve always gotten that impression from you.”

“You seem to be the only one,” he sighed. “But I’m so fucking tired of this bullshit in class.”

“Look, you’ve been doing good in class, good enough to pass I think.” 

“Yeah but it’s more effort than I can handle. I’ll probably barley pass because like I said, I’m a shit wizard. A shit, ugly, wizard.”

Oliver huffed in frustration. Then, with what looked like an ounce of that Gryffindor bravery he was meant to have, he grabbed his face, turning it towards him. He could feel his hot breath on his face. “Marcus,” he breathed out, “You are not a shit wizard,” his voice cracked as he spoke. “And you are not ugly. Please stop telling yourself that.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Oliver pressed his lips against his. 

Wow, okay, wow. 

So apparently Oliver felt how he did, feelings that still existed despite ignoring the tugging in his stomach he felt when he was around him. 

“Okay, maybe that convinced me of the second part,” Marcus said when Oliver pulled away. “Only a little though.” 

Oliver smiled at him. “Both parts are true,” he said. “And for the record, I liked you before you shrunk your teeth.”

“’Fixed’ is the more accurate word there,” Marcus said.

“’Shrunk’ is the operative word,” Oliver shrugged and Marcus laughed. 

“But, you’re serious?” Marcus asked. “You liked me even with the large teeth?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

No. Because it was Oliver. Quidditch obsessed, amazing, incredible, Oliver Wood. 

“Guess not,” he said and Oliver smiled at the response, pulling him in for another kiss. 

“Can we get back to non-verbal spells now?” Oliver asked and Marcus laughed.

…

“Y’know, just because this is a thing now doesn’t mean Slytherin’s not going to destroy you tomorrow.”

“In your dreams, not with Harry’s Firebolt. You may have only gotten that pipsqueak Malfoy for the brooms, but he’s not as good as Harry. We’ll be the ones who win.”

“In your dreams.”

…

Slytherin lost the Quidditch game.

But Marcus liked seeing how happy Oliver was over the win so it wasn’t too awful. 

“You only won because I went easy,” Marcus said, walking into the now empty change room after the rest of the team had left.

“Sure,” Oliver said, wrapping his arms around Marcus’s neck and kissed him. “Whatever you say.”

“Just so you know, we would’ve won the last two cups if they hadn’t gotten cancelled.” 

Oliver still smiled at him teasingly. “Like I said, whatever you say.” He kissed him again and was ready to pin him to a wall before he pulled away. “Are you ready for exams?”

Talk about a mood killer. “I think,” he said. “I’ve been practicing and studying.”

“Percy been a good help?” 

Somehow, Oliver was able to convince Weasley to help Marcus study the theory part of classes. And yeah, it had been a big help. Even if the first thing he said to him was “I have no idea what Oliver sees in you but he likes you and he wants me to help you, so I will.”

Pretty much everyone knew they were dating at this point. Malfoy had caught them snogging in the change room and of course the little brat felt the need to tell everybody. Apparently that included Lucius Malfoy, his father’s cooworker, with the howler he’d gotten. 

“A GRYFFINDOR!? A FUCKING GRYFFINDOR ADDING ON TO BEING A POOF!? WHAT KIND OF SON ARE YOU!? YOU FAILED YOUR EXAMS AND YOU’RE A FUCKING POOF! YOU’RE NO SON OF MINE YOU IMBECILLIC TROLL LOOKING POOFTA”

Even opening it in his room didn’t muffle it enough for most of the school not to hear it.

His mother sent him a much kinder letter the next day, assuring him he wasn’t disowned. Even telling him she’d like to meet Oliver. 

But even with all of that, he focussed on his exams. He wouldn’t care if he got all A’s, he just wanted to pass. 

During the actual exam, he listened to Oliver’s advice and stayed calm. He took the exam and was suddenly even more grateful for Weasley helping him study. 

He was essentially in constant panic until marks were handed out. 

“You go first,” Marcus told Oliver who nodded. 

Before he could even take the parchment out, Weasley came over to them, a smug grin on his face. He heard a small sigh of frustration from Oliver. He’d have to remember to ask him why he hanged out with Weasley in the first place.

“Yeah, Perce?” Oliver asked.

“I got all O’s!” he said with a stupid grin on his face.

“Cool, good for you,” Oliver said. “I was just about to look at my grades.”

“Cool, let me see.”

Oliver didn’t even try to hide the annoyance on his face.

He pulled out the sheet of parchment and smiled. “Out of my seven classes, four E’s, two A’s, and an O, in Charms.”

Marcus couldn’t help but smile, their constant practicing seemed to have paid off.

“That’s great mate,” Weasley grinned. He turned to Marcus. “What about you, Flint?”

“Just about to look,” he said.

“What classes did you take?”

“Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, DADA, and Astronomy.” 

Weasley seemed to bit his tongue at the short list. “Okay, you gonna look?”

Marcus looked at the sealed envelope, then to Oliver, hoping he’d read his mind, that he didn’t want Weasley here. Oliver just gave him an apologetic look back. 

He opened the envelope and took out the piece of parchment. He looked at it and he felt relief and shock course through his body.

DADA – A

Astronomy – A

Herbology – A

Transfiguration – E

Charms – E 

“Well?” Weasley asked as Marcus stared at the parchment. Oliver looked over his shoulder and immediately wrapped his arms around him. 

“You passed them all!” he grinned, kissing his cheek. 

In his shock, Weasley took it as a chance to snatch the parchment from Marcus. “Not bad,” Weasley said. “Considering everything, not bad.”

Not bad at all, he decided, enjoying the feeling when Oliver hugged him tighter. 

…

“Don’t you still need to assign a new Quidditch captain?”

“Oh fuck I do. Montague! You’re captain now!”


End file.
